cigarette ash on the windowsill
by Doublebend
Summary: Two months, three weeks, five days. And Izaya's one night stand was still here. One-shot.


A/N: This was something I had written way back, so long ago before the thirteenth Durarara! light novel came out and I've been twisting in my spot to find out about what happened to Izaya since. I'm working on another - Japanese - story for that one, among others, but this is just a one-shot thing I wanted to get out. Basically I wanted to see Iza-Iza off of his usual stride, and my headcanon is that Izaya really doesn't know how to hold his alcohol - he's usually just careful. That all changes when Shizuo is around, obviously.

* * *

_cigarette ash on the windowsill_

Two months, three weeks, five days.

Izaya's ass was sore.

He woke up to light streaming on his half-open eyelids, the chitter of morning birds out in the city of Ikebukuro, and the rankling smell of a bachelor's room, alcohol, and sex. There was a comforting weight draped around his waist, sinking him further into the mattress beneath, and he found warmth somewhere to the front of him. He sighed, and nuzzled at it unconsciously as he sought with his nose, for the radiating heat, the smooth skin, the hard, rippling muscles that were usually hidden under strange, but oddly smart, bartender clothes...

His eyes flew open. His breath grew short.

Slowly, very slowly - so as not to wake the beast - Izaya raised his head to confirm that which he dreaded. His eyelashes tickled the broad expanse of the chest before him, as his wide, reddish eyes trailed up, up the collar bones, the shoulders, the bleached hair that fell just around a vulnerably exposed neck - and took in the sight of one Heiwajima Shizuo, the automated-fighting doll of Ikebukuro, the so-called (and rightly christened) God of Destruction, Orihara Izaya's natural enemy, and the one night stand for two months, three weeks, and five days ago.

Or he was supposed to be. Unless the definition of 'one night stand' had changed to 'fucking at least twice a week' when information broker and internet addict Orihara Izaya hadn't been paying attention to his adorable humans and their crazy trends.

Izaya almost felt like applauding himself for staying so calm at a time like this.

He never stayed the night. Never. He watched Shizuo sink into his pillows after satisfying himself inside Izaya (or mostly the condom Izaya made him wear, since it was easier to get rid of and he didn't have to worry about any bits he couldn't finger out leaking onto his trousers, rather than safety reasons) and unsuccessfully fight his drooping eyelids as Izaya slipped into his discarded clothes...and left. When asked about it once - he had been more or less threatened into answering, though, what with a monster between his legs and his knees bent so much they touched his chest - he had laughed cruelly, and told Shizuo it was because he didnt want to be crushed in his sleep. _That_ had been a particularly rough night.

The truth about it, though, was mostly because of the starting hangover throbbing deep in his head, and the fact that it proved that he was now sober.

Trying - and failing - to quell the panic rising from the pit of his stomach, Izaya shifted oh so slightly to his right. The weight on him turned out to be Shizuo's arm, holding him, with a surprising amount of gentleness that Izaya hadn't though Shizuo was capable of, no less. He resisted the urge to click his tongue in annoyance, and instead focused on removing the arm that was pinning him like a butterfly to a board. The hold was gentle, but firm.

Damn you, Shizu-chan.

Despite his concentration, Izaya hesitated when his fingers brushed Shizuo's. Furrowing his brows as the heat started collecting on his face, he lifted them slightly, enough for him to slip out from under it, and roll off the bed in one swift move. He didn't care if he had dropped the monster's hand much too hastily than he should have; this was slow, dumb Shizu-chan he was dealing with. He wouldn't have felt a thing.

The next surprise the morning had in store for him was a stumble. The moment his feet reached the cold floor, his legs crumbled out from under him as though all their strength had been sapped out. The dark-haired twenty-four year old dropped to all fours like a helpless baby, too startled to give anything but a sharp gasp. The cold air was pinching his naked body harshly, and Izaya wanted nothing more than to get his clothes on and _get out of here_, but his lower body only shook in protest even as his mind furiously ordered them to move.

_Damn you_, Shizu-chan...!

He didn't remember much about last night, truth be told, but surely he hadn't been so far gone as to let that beast do him as many times as he liked without stopping him. Or maybe the stupid protozoan hadn't listened, and had thrust into him like the primitive ape he was. It wouldn't be the first time - that Shizuo had not done what Izaya wanted him to, that is.

It was, however, the first time that he had fucked Izaya so hard and so many times that he couldn't stand, and Izaya was at a loss for this.

Using the bedside cabinet, the walls, and a few other littered furniture as crutches, he finally managed to straighten up slowly and get to the other side of the room, picking his clothes up as he went. Izaya absolutely refused to crawl around the floor like an insect Shizu-chan often compared him to - although as a flea, he had to be a pretty starved and weakened one by now - but the strain on his hips was getting far too painful to ignore. Ignoring the trickle of something warm running down his legs as he stood (how much _had_ he had to have foregone the condom? Suddenly, a memory of last night flashed across his mind; Shizuo, hanging his fifth beer can between three long fingers with his lips upturned in the most annoying way, his bleached hair glowing golden in the faint dim of street lights outside his window - _Can't keep up with me, flea?_ - and he had had a particularly testy customer that day, he hadn't needed that _at all_), he bit his lips hard to contain the whimpers as he struggled to get into the trouser legs of his tight jeans, opting to cover his nether regions as soon as possible (and because his underwear was nowhere to be seen. Izaya didn't even want to know).

"...Need any help?"

Izaya froze, with one leg in. He couldn't dare to turn around.

There was a rustling noise behind him, though, and the man's heightened senses warned him of a certain presence that _should not be awake_. He whipped his head around to find Shizuo, head propped up by a hand on the pillows, tousled blonde hair illuminated in part with the morning light and looking incredibly stupid as it stuck out in every direction, and wearing a stupid stupid stupid smug _grin _that Izaya had never seen before, and wished that he hadn't.

His lips were dry and cracked as he opened them, and his voice came out hoarse when he spoke. "Since when were you awake?"

"Since you practically dropped out of the bed. Waking up to a nice view of your ass could be something I can get used to, by the way."

And there was that _smile_ again. Izaya bit his tongue, choosing to glare at the other man instead (who looked like he had the upper hand for once, who looked like he had fucking _won_, this isn't a game, he wasn't going to let himself compete in _anything_ that Shizuo had imagined up except for the battle of pride Izaya couldn't resist continuing to this minute) and turned back to gingerly slip on the other half of his jeans. At least he hadn't seen me cudd-nope, not going there, not now. Shizuo's gaze seemed to burn into his skin.

"So, we're going comman-"

"Shut up."

He was off his territory here, he knew it, and somehow he needed to win his upper hand back. Bundling shirt, socks and furry coat into his arms, he marched out of the door to change in the living room cum kitchen of the small apartment. The burning in his cheeks wouldn't recede no matter how much he tried, so he rushed to flee the place as quickly as possible. Foregoing the socks - it was too much trouble and pain to bend - Izaya winced his way to the front door, locating his scattered shoes and sliding into them in record time. Just as he had gripped the door knob, a deep, sleepy voice sounded behind him, shaking him to his core.

"You could stay for breakfast, you know."

He glanced back before he could stop himself, catching sight of a buck naked Shizu-chan leaning against the door frame in the short corridor. The chocolate brown eyes were boring into him, and Izaya was almost taken aback by how soft the colour seemed despite that they were looking at the most hated person in the world.

Almost. Not quite.

"I have work to do," he said, tone clipped. "I actually should have gotten back last night to finish it. No thanks to you."

He couldn't help injecting poison in the last word for emphasis, as he recalled all the mishaps that had befallen him in the last ten minutes since he had awoken. Yet in defiance with his expectations, Shizu-chan's lips crooked up, slowly growing into _that_ smile Izaya was quickly coming to hate the sight of.

"Yeah. Well. Should have told yourself that last night, when you were begging for more in that slutty voice of yours."

His ears _flamed_ red, and Izaya was definitely sure it was from anger this time. He didn't remember 'last night', after all (_golden hair and ragged moans; sweat dripping from their chests; brown specks of light shining in the dark_). Wrenching the door open, he gave Shizuo one last death glare, before darting towards the stairs of the apartment block.

He managed it in just an instant. And an instant wasn't long enough to determine what he thought might have been Shizu-chan's (_soft, smiling_ - _no,_ mocking) brown eyes widening as their gazes met.

And his own eyes were naturally moist as they were red, is all.

"Iza-"

The door slammed behind him.

* * *

A/N: Oh, just be honest with yourself, Izaya.


End file.
